h a very grand air.

"Were you wanting speech with me?" said I, for I could see the drink
was going to his head.

"It's a wee thing private," says he; "but tak' up your dram. I canna
thole a man that loiters wi' drink till the pith is out of it."

At that we drew our chairs close before the fire.

"Many's the time we would be talking about ye, Mr Hamish," says he,
"Dan and myself; yon time we left ye in the haar at Loch Ranza--a
senseless job, too, by all accounts, and Alastair rowing to the
suthard, and us creeping out to the nor'west; he'll be hard to find
now, by Gully--ay, Dan will be hard to find.

"I am hoping you are not close-hauled for time," says he, "for it's
hard to come at my tale, Mr Hamish; but ye see, Dan McBride had some
notion o' what might occur--I am thinking ye will see with me there.

"I am giving you the man's words, ye see, for he had great faith in ye.

"'Ye'll say to Hamish,' says he, and I'm telling you he was a sober
man--'ye'll say, I am not wanting the wean to grow up like a cadger's
dog, to be running from kicks and whining for a bone.'

"I am no' great hand at this wean business, Mr Hamish, but McBride was
a fine man."

At that I made mention of the wean he had taken to the convent in
France.

"I'm with you there," says he. "I was paid good money for that job,
and I ken what I ken, and mair--what I've found out. Ye'll no' hiv
great mind o' Scaurdale's son? No? Aweel, he was a bog-louper, and
wild, wild at that, but he fell in wi' some south-country lady--a
cousin o' his ain, that stopped for years at Scaurdale--a young thing
that was feart to haud the man, but fond o' him too. I canna mind the
name o' her. The long and short of it was jeest this--she married on
an Englishman, a landed man and weel bred--Stockdale they ca'ed
him--but he turned oot ill after a', and the first wean was a lass
instead o' a boy. And I'm jalousin' she would be getting her
keel-haulings for that, poor lady. Ye ken weel that young Scaurdale
broke his neck, and ye ken where.

"'I'll be in hell or hame,' says he, 'in forty minutes.' At the Quay
Inn it was, and his horse lathered and foaming and wild wi' fear.
Aweel, Mr Hamish, he's no _hame_ yet.

"Things were going from bad to worse with the lass he lost, and her man
aye at the bottle, and sometimes she would be finding him lookin' at
the wean and cursing, so what does she do but get word to the old Laird
o' Scaurdale, who was fond o' her